Parallel Paths

True Story…

I drove down the slushy road. The rolling tires sounded like they were driving through a river. I had all day to do this. It’s hard to get out of the house when you’re unemployed, though. I speed down the left lane, down Niagara Falls Blvd. Some cars had their lights on, other didn’t.
I had my fingers crossed that the Post Office would be open. My letter had to go out today. If I didn’t make it in time I would have to consider it a loss for the day. When you’re unemployed losses tend to stack up. I didn’t want another loss to go down so easily. So, I sped down Niagara Falls Blvd amidst the gray skyline that seemed to overshadow the entire world around me.
As I drove in I noticed the lights were off in the Post Office. The office was most certainly not open. If I had gotten their minutes earlier I could have put the letter into an employee’s hand and it would have arrived the next day. I had failed – another failure. I submitted to the loss and slowly moved my car out of the parking lot and back on the road.
Driving back to my home I saw a mail truck on a side road. I thought for a moment. Was it an opportunity to get my letter in on time? These opportunities approach us everyday. But it was just turning to dusk – a truly magical hour. While the sun was going down, the snow reflected to the sky making the sky light with a tinted glow.
I pulled over behind the mail truck. A balding Asian man with glasses was walking back to the truck. “Hi”, I said. “Hey”, he mumbled. He didn’t even bother to look up. “Hey I was wondering…” He just got into his truck and sped to the next mailbox – not much of a getaway. I ran through the slushy snow on the sidewalk, the loose snow getting into my untied boots. “I was wondering if I could give you this letter”, I said loudly as if the volume would make him listen. But once again the man ignored me. “HEY”, I shouted. I was annoyed at his behavior, but he turned and gave me a look of anger and disgust. I didn’t expect that. Still, my tongue was poised to lash out at him. “Could you just take my damn letter”. “No, go put it into a mailbox”, he said with a more indignant tone than I had ever heard before.
But, I had had it. When you’re unemployed you reach your limit of BS just about everyday. I figured I would at least figure out why this guy was being so abrasive. “Hey man. Are you having a bad day”, I asked. Finally he gave me the courtesy of stopping amid his daily routine. He looked down first, and put his hand in his pocket. Then he looked up at me. “What would you know about ‘bad days’”. “Well I have been unemployed for ten months now”, I replied immediately. The quick response seemed to disarm him. He stopped and allowed his black leather shoes to wade in the small puddle along the sidewalk. “What do you need”, he said to me. I finally got his attention, but I stopped thinking about myself for that moment. He really must have had a bad day. And I knew that a bad day can be as painful as a gunshot wound to the heart. So I said, “you are having a bad day”. I had had a rough several months for myself, so worrying about someone else felt refreshing. The man put his arm on the hood of the mail truck and everything around us seemed to just disappear. “My son died twelve days ago. Juvenile diabetes.” I barely knew this guy, but I felt his pain like we shared the same wound. “I’m so sorry”. “It’s been twelve days, I can’t believe it’s been twelve days…He had just gotten a job at a news station in New York. It was like he was just on his way to big things, you know? And then it all ended, just like that”.
For a few short moments we stood in silence on that nameless road with the gray, glowing sky darkening. The boundless atmosphere seeming to echo an answer to us – an answer to why we were suffering – he, with the loss of his son, me, with the loss of my livelihood. But the answer lay just in front of us in the cold winter air, like an invisible fog you can sense but never see or touch. “So do you need me to send out a resume or something”, he said. “Could you make sure this letter goes out today, the job just opened up”. I handed him the letter. The printed address was written as perfect as could be. He looked it over. He had shared his life with me; he may as well know mine. The mailman read the address and let out a strange sigh/laugh. It was to a TV station in New York. Sometimes our paths cross just right. “I’ll make sure this goes out tonight”.